


Battered, Not Broken

by Thoughtyouknewr



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, From a prompt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I don't know how I always end up writing sad things, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, In the first one, Not all of them will be sad, Tags will change if I finish the prompts list, trigger warning for domestic violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14542197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thoughtyouknewr/pseuds/Thoughtyouknewr
Summary: A collection of one shots with prompts on the topic of abuse.First: A far too familiar question gets Eggsy thinking of things he'd rather forget.





	Battered, Not Broken

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Kingsman. Trigger warning for thoughts of domestic violence and child abuse. Please don't read if it will trigger you.

“Where did you get those bruises?” The woman at the cash register asked as she eyed his face in concern.

He’d heard the question so many times that the way he flinched back was automatic. Heard it from concerned teachers wondering about the mark on his forehead from where Eggsy hadn’t been able to get his hands up to protect his head. Heard it from his gymnastics coach who was staring at far-too-large handprints around his arms. Heard it from his friends, very early on, when his shirt pulled up as they were play wrestling and his mottled skin peaked through. 

It felt like he’d been hearing it forever. 

Eggsy could only give her a tight smile. “My buddy misjudged his swing in a self defense class,” he explained, because what else would excuse the obviously hand shaped mark across his cheekbone?

He’d gotten very good at lying very quickly. “I took a ball to the face,” he assured teachers. “I was falling, and my stepdad grabbed me before I could go down the stairs. Bit tight, but better than goin’ down face first, yeah?” he told his coach. He didn’t answer his friends. They learned to stop asking. 

The cashier eyed the equally distinctive strangle marks around his neck with doubtful eyes. 

He knew what she was thinking. Knew what it looked like when he walked in with a black eye every other week, and purple bruises around his wrists on the off days. He’d lived that life once, after all. He knew the signs. 

She did too. He could see it in her eyes. There was a weariness and betrayal there that only lived in people who had been hurt by the ones they loved. He’d seen her flinch away when customers thrust their money at her before she was prepared for it. She knew. 

Indecision flickered across her face. “If it were somethin’ else,” she said quickly, “I migh’ be able ta understand. An’ I would say that ya don’ deserve it. Ya should know tha’. Don’ never let no one tell ya otherwise.”

Her eyes were serious and shadowed with memories. 

He met it with an exhausted smile. “I know,” he said. Because he did. He’d always known that, ever since the first time Dean touched his mother. He could maybe believe that he’d done something to justify Dean’s wrath, but it was so much easier to judge clearly when it wasn’t happening to you. His mother hadn’t deserved it. She hadn’t done nothing, and seeing that made it possible to believe that Eggsy hadn’t done anything either. It was Dean who was at fault. 

But- “Tha’ don’t necessarily mean I can change it,” he told her. 

It was different now. Different because it wasn’t someone who was supposed to love and protect him that was hurting him. Different because every little mark was tended carefully by medical and tutted over by Harry or Merlin or Roxy. 

But in some ways it was all the same. It was still a bone-deep ache in his body when he woke up more often than not. It was still second takes and whispers behind hands. It was still pity or worry on strangers’ faces. It was still commiserating looks with his closest friends whose bodies mirrored his pain. 

He was no longer stepping between Dean and his mother or sister, but it was still him taking bruises to protect other people. It was still his choice. 

It was still too much concealer that didn’t actually hide anything, and long sleeves even in the summer, and hoping no one noticed the bandages under his clothes.

It was still handprints on his skin. 

Sometimes it felt like he was born for this. Like he would never be rid of it. And maybe he wouldn’t.

Understanding acceptance reflected back to him.

“I know,” she agreed. “Bu’ i’ helps ta believe tha’.”

He nodded. Two peas in a pod, they were. She would come in tomorrow wearing a turtle neck or claiming that the split lip was from getting a bit too frisky. He would stare back at her with his still blackened cheek and pretend he wasn’t handing her his number in case of emergencies with the payment for his groceries. 

Their eyes met, and something unfathomable passed between. Pain, and love, and fear, and hurt, and resignation twined into a knot too complicated to ever come loose. 

The moment broke. 

She handed him his change. He thanked her with a too bright grin. They would both pretend the exchange never happened. They were good at that, after all. 

It never made it any less real. 

**Author's Note:**

> Guys...I like FLUFF. How does this happen to me? I swear I didn't set out to write something like this. Sometimes the prompts just kidnap me and I end up with something like this. Idk, guys. 
> 
> There's a whole list of prompts, but I have trouble finishing things, so I don't know if I'll get to all of them. Leaving this marked as incomplete, but planning to update as inspiration strikes. We'll see how it goes. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this wasn't too sad and someone got some enjoyment out of it. Have a great day!


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